


Until The End Of Everything

by Val_Creative



Category: His Dark Materials (TV), His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Canon - Book & TV Combination, Cittagazze (His Dark Materials), During Canon, Episode Related, F/M, Hurt Will Parry, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Recovery, Romantic Friendship, Season/Series 02, Soft Lyra Belaqua
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:27:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27901492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative
Summary: Lyra comforts Will when he starts crying in front of her.
Relationships: Lyra Belacqua/Will Parry
Comments: 36
Kudos: 93





	Until The End Of Everything

**Author's Note:**

> I'll write a million and a half things about these two. I don't even care. I just ❤️ them. Thank you to Conner for helping me plot this fic a little and thank you to everyone for being here! I would love to hear your thoughts! Thank you for reading!

*

It's all gone wrong so quickly.

Through the shock of losing blood, Will remembered seeing his two right fingers curled up on the floor. Severed from his hand. _Shriveled_. How they fell together… it sort of looked like a question mark. Will remembered choking out a breathless laugh.

Lyra didn't look at him like he was being funny.

None of it was funny, and yet, Will laughed and fell over right after.

The alethiometer is in the hands of Sir Charles Latrom. He has both Lyra's and Will's real names, and he has _the very thing_ in his possession that Lyra needs to find Will's father. It's hers by right. Will can steal it back with Aesahaettr, the Knife, but he's exhausted.

Will's eyelids flutter shut.

He jerks to his attention when his chin lowers and almost taps his bare sternum. The dark, soapy waters slosh noisily.

"Are you alright, Will?" Lyra calls out.

Despite the fret in her voice, she still sits with her back towards him, gazing ahead. Pantalaimon copies her, twitching his little ermine whiskers. In the distance, Cittàgazze rings out faintly in the endless starry night. The air thickens with warmth.

When they are here, it feels like _home_. Will knows the odour of the sweet, blooming flowers and the ocean by memory.

Except now his body feels unfamiliar to him. His head buzzes. His left hand throbs in a constant, deep-stinging pain. There's no way to stop the bleeding, and Will wonders if it'll kill him. Fear bridles in his chest. Tears spring to Will's dark brown eyes.

He doesn't want to die.

Not like this.

Would that mean his mother will be alone to grieve him? How can he help her, and how can Will help her if something's wrong with his fingers? Will his father look at him and be disappointed? What if he could tell that Will killed someone? Would he even _want_ to see Will?

_It's all wrong._

Tears drip down Will's face.

He stifles a sob, gnawing his lip and trembling hard enough to worsen the pain in the bloody rag-covered hand.

Lyra…

He had never seen Lyra the way she was when Angelica's brother kicked Pantalaimon. She collapsed, gasping loudly, raggedly for air, clutching herself on the ground as Pantalaimon whimpered nearby. Drool gleamed on her chin. Her brown eyes wide. Will didn't have to think about it for long… whatever Angelica's brother did to Pantalaimon… it had happened to Lyra, too.

They're only kids.

He doesn't know why the Spectres are after him. Will isn't ready to face them.

His shoulders tighten. This time, he's unable to control the quivery sobs wrecking him. Will lifts his uninjured hand to angrily wipe off his face. Lyra says nothing, gazing ahead, but she edges herself up over the stone-step and inches backwards towards him.

Will gulps down the rest of his tears, his expression a mortified scowl.

"What are you doing…?"

"Nothing. We won't look." Lyra nods to her ermine-shaped daemon fluffing his tail and pattering backwards too. "Right, Pan?"

"Right," Pantalaimon says cheerfully to her. He doesn't peek around in a shy inquisitiveness like earlier.

Lyra scoots herself on her bottom closer towards the wall behind Will. Unsure of what she's playing at, Will stares at her with growing bemusement, very aware that he's undressed in this bathtub. "Just tell me if I hit something…" Lyra tells him.

Will frowns.

"Lyra…"

She navigates herself until her own back thumps on the washing metal. Somehow, Lyra made it to where Will's head is. Lyra faces one way, as Will faces another, their backs facing each other even with the bathtub between them. Pantalaimon shifts himself into a little sparrow, perching on the metal-edge with a twirp and facing himself in Lyra's direction.

Touching Pantalaimon had been… odd. Will supposes that's the only word that fits.

(Odder still was Lyra's awestruck but deeply scandalized reaction.)

Lyra's head inclines, resting against the back of Will's skull.

"I en't leaving," she declares in a firm, but passionately heartfelt, voice. Will's eyes moisten. His heart pounds and his chest feels tight. He finds himself leaning against her head, grinding slightly. "I'm going to be right here with you, Will. Until this is all over—" Lyra tuts. "No, no—we'll be together _even longer than that_. Until the end of everything. I know we will."

He imagines her brows furrowing. The particularly serious look on Lyra's face she gets.

A quivery laugh croaks out of him.

"Thanks, Lyra," Will murmurs, smiling to himself.

Maybe that's true.

_Maybe he hopes it is._

*


End file.
